The Interview
by Darth Nickels
Summary: AU, post ROTJ: Darth Vader may have left the Empire, but the Galaxy remains unconvinced of the sincerity behind his change of heart. Against his better judgment he agrees to a series of interviews with an enterprising holonet reporter- after all, any press is good press
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: This story (like many of my others, ha ha) takes place in an alternate universe where Darth Vader survived the events of the Second Death Star and went on to serve the New Republic-- the basis for this is outlined in the Star Wars: Infinities comics.  
_

The shuttle ride from Leia's address back to their apartments at 500 Republica was strained by a thick, stony silence. The usually brief jaunt seemed to last for hours, and Luke could not even escape to the cockpit—not when his sister had them riding in a formal Republic vehicle with its own driver.

"This is idiocy," Leia snapped. She didn't move from where she sat, stiffly pressed against the exit hatch (and as far from their father and she could physically be) but her eyes glinted like laser fire.

"In two hours, the only thing we accomplished was inciting a full-scale riot and creating a mess that Tal'na in Public Works will have my head for—and they were peaceful protestors! Imagine if we had another Corellia Square incident…" She punctuated this uncomfortable scenario by pulling stray eggshells out of her hair, and in a childish fit of pique threw them at her father.

"You're not even listening to me!"

"That is untrue," Anakin Skywalker rumbled, breaking his statue-like stillness to brush remnants of a rotten muja fruit off of his usually immaculate white boot. "It is impossible to drown you out. I have tried."

Leia's eyebrows shot up, and her lips thinned into a very small pink line.

"_I 'm_ not the one starting riots," she shot back, making no effort to hide her frustration behind her serene Senator's mask.

"And _I_ am not the one suggesting that you drag me before the general public when you wish to cut ribbons on whatever new credit-sink the Senate has dreamed up this time!" Anakin snapped. Luke sighed heavily, feeling only the smallest twinge of guilt for not immediately trying to mediate the growing argument. He had tried before—Force help him, he had tried.

"You are a _public figure_! You have to address the public at some point! You can't just hole up in the War Room and avoid answering people's questions—you are the emergency acting Secretary of Imperial Relations and the people have a right to know what you're up to!"

"I am not 'up to' anything! I did not want this position, and once a successor is found and the crisis is over I will never hold public office again! This is exactly the kind of attitude that constantly bogged down the workings of the Old Republic—it rotted and decayed while people dithered over speeches and public appearances—"

"That is how democracy works, Anakin! This isn't the Empire anymore, and you can't just send out your boogie men in black cloaks under the cover of night—"

"That's funny," he hissed, leaning forward abruptly and shoving the grill of his mask into her face, "because the New Republic seems insistent on dragging its new _boogie man _with a change of wardrobe out in broad daylight—with disastrous results."

Even today, in the era of a reformed Darth Vader working alongside the heroic Luke Skywalker, being faced with this display of the Dark Lord's ire was enough to make most sentients excuse themselves quietly to go sob with relief over still being alive. Leia rolled her eyes.

"Of course this is only about you—this has nothing to do with the duty you have to those people and the responsibility you accepted after your former henchmen blew up all of our staff-"

"I had nothing to do with it!" Vader barked, and Luke sensed that their daily spat was about to boil over into something ugly. Truth be told, Leia and their father had been butting heads more and more often after the crisis- which the media had gleefully dubbed 'The Remnant Negotiations Meltdown'. A radical splinter group of the Alliance to Restore the Empire (" 'radical' is redundant when you're talking about those idiots," Leia would seethe) had managed to bypass security at the Office of Intra-Republic Relations and plant a massive amount of explosives directly beneath the ambassador's desk—before he was scheduled to have a meeting with a handful of more cooperative delegates from the Imperial Remnant. The resulting explosion took out more than three quarters of the New Republic's experts on the Empire and threw Coruscant into a lockdown for three days as the Senate and Chancellor Mothma scrambled to contain the damage. After the dust had settled (more literally than figuratively), almost the entire chain of command in the Office of Intra-Republic Relations had been wiped out—leading to mass resignation among various underlings who had never intended to find themselves in a position of real importance or were completely and totally unsuited to the job. In an effort to prevent full-scale war and public upheaval, Mothma appointed the one person most feared by both the Remnant and the Republic to the position of Acting Head of the Office of Intra-Republic Relations and Secretary of Imperial Relations to provide the illusion that everything was under control— the former Darth Vader.

'Under control' could only describe the total opposite of the result of Anakin's appointment.

"Father, Leia's just trying to say that while things are…touch and go, you need to be a little calmer and…"

"Don't you dare put words in my mouth, Luke!" Leia snapped, while Anakin shouted for her to "refrain from speaking to your brother that way". They turned to glare at one another, and Luke longed more than anything for quiet, non-stressful Tatooine. Fortunately, their shuttle set down with a gentle whine of decelerating thrusters and Leia stormed out onto the landing pad at 500 Republica.

"You are not going anywhere! Don't you dare tell me you're going to go meditate in your little hidey-hole—"

"_My meditation chamber_! I am truly sorry that I have medical concerns that must be dealt with, and that it seems to be a source of annoyance for you—"

"I don't want to hear you weasel your way out of this—we are having this conversation! We are going to finish it once I check my holomessages and so help me, Force…"

She continued making very emphatic gestures, even as the turbolift to her apartments slid shut.

"She's right, you know," Luke said quietly, standing beside his father. The wind ran teasing fingers through his blond hair (it was beginning to get a bit unruly) and stirred his father's cloak as he glared off into the congested skyways.

"Have you two decided to work as a _team_ now? Harassing me in shifts?"

Luke simply gave him a look handed down to him by Uncle Owen, Aunt Beru, and others—an expression of cool, unimpressed condescension that only that only those who had scrabbled for life on Tatooine and succeeded could muster. He folded his arms and tapped his foot for emphasis.

"Very _well_," his father replied, and stomped off towards his own quarters in a manner that reminded Luke of a sulky child. He sighed, shaking his head and taking his boots off. His father had told him time and time again that leaving them by the front door was an appalling habit only suitable for moisture farming peasants, but Luke had coldly replied that that was what he was at heart and stubbornly continued leaving his footwear wherever he pleased. After all, he had inherited that insufferable streak from the same man who thought that an excellent method for quelling rowdy protestors was to shout at them that they were all fools.

He walked to the holoterminal and idly began scrolling through his own messages- for various reasons, he shared an joint house-comm with his father in addition to their adjoining apartments. Luke loved his father very dearly, and could not believe how blessed he was to have a chance to know him, but he was beginning to look very longingly towards the day when he could turn his father out, leave him to his own devices, and trust him not to strangle some spam-holomarketer who got a hold of him with his mask off.

He was drawn from his reverie by a personal message sandwiched between his news feed and a letter of protest over Anakin's actions less than half an hour before. He opened it and the figure of a slim human woman sprang to life on the holopad. She had sculpted features, thick, curly hair that framed her elegant face like a halo, and was dressed in a professional manner that managed to compliment her figure without ever appearing anything less than refined.

"Jedi Skywalker," she said, severely. "I understand that you are currently occupied by the ongoing crisis, but it is absolutely vital that you contact me. I am making your father an offer that he absolutely cannot turn down without even considering it—and, if the elder Skywalker is listening in, I promise you that this is an endeavor worth your while. Again, my name is Espera D'tol, please leave contact me on either my work or personal comm."

"Absolutely not."

Luke turned—his father must have emerged from his room while he was still occupied by the holo.

"There is no way I am consenting to some media puppet make a buffoon of me on the Holonet.

"It's only an interview, Father. You don't have to say yes, but-"

"But what? Should I parade myself in front of the whole Galaxy, rather than Leia's unruly masses? I can assure you, that is hardly behavior befitting a Jedi."

"—But," Luke continued, firmly, "You have to stop treating everything as though it's a direct insult or threat. She's probably just interested in your story-"

"I am not a performing animal. I do not tell _stories._"

"Well, then you are going to tell her that yourself," Luke said impulsively, tapping the glowing image of Espera D'tol and initiating a call.

"What—"

"And you are going to be _polite _as well," Luke added, firmly. The holo barely had time to chime once before a slightly less-composed looking D'tol appeared.

"What—oh!" She looked at a point past Luke's head, apparently fixated on his father—to be fair, he was wearing the half-mask designed to allow him to move more comfortably around their apartments.

"Jedi Skywalker and Mister Secretary," she said, composing herself in one smooth moment, transitioning from slightly-harassed businesswoman to collected holotube personality in one fluid change of expression. "Have you decided to consider my offer?"

"Yes-" Luke started.

"What-" Anakin asked at the same time, thrown off by his temporary form of address.

"Excellent! Actually, I am in the area right now—would it be too much to arrange a private meeting at Republica Evenings? I can be there in twenty minutes—I'll have a table.

"Actually," Luke said, trying to edge in, "we just wanted to…"

"You are entirely correct, Jedi Skywalker, these sort of meetings are always more productive when face-to-face. I will meet you there in half an hour, and I assure you, my proposal will be as irresistible as the food. "

She flashed a broad grin before her image winked off, too quickly for either Anakin or Luke to make so much as a syllable of protest.

"…Well," Luke said, stunned.

"I am not going. You can tell her _yourself_," his father replied, dryly.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you for your kind responses to the first chapter- I already had this written when I posted the first, so I cannot promise that updates will be speedy after this (quite the opposite, actually) but your kind reviews warmed the cockles of my heart :)_

"This is completely insane, you know," Nola told her, idly wiping the lens of his holocam with a cloth. "Even if Vader says yes-"

"He'll say yes"

"—if he says yes, there's no way he'll actually answer anything or make any kind of concession. He'll just trumpet some load of bantha crap about duty and the Empire and you'll have a whole audience of beings moved to tears by boredom…and a whole room full of advertisers wanting your head on a stick."

"This is not good for my serenity, Nola," Espera answered fiercely, fastening and re-fastening her outer tunic, each time with a different knot. "How am I supposed to collect myself to play hardball with two Jedi if you keep on being a Doubting Dathomirian?"

"Adversity only makes you stronger," he replied lazily. Nola was equally clean-cut as his partner, but with straight black hair pulled away from his face in a neat queue and deep red skin that was surprisingly well-maintained for a holocam operator—Nola claimed that never being in a holo was no reason not to look like he just walked out of one.

"I am going to take that holocam and I am going to shove it down your throat if you keep on trying to throw me off my game," Espera replied. She flipped open a small compact and corrected non-existent smudges in her eye makeup. "What, more than anything in the world, does the Galaxy want from Vader?"

"Endless footage of him acting like a complete lunatic?"

"No- an _apology. _They want an apology, and whatever twisted reasoning he has for wiping out planets left and right- can you imagine it? If we were the ones that got him to out and out say what he did was wrong without his possible execution being on the line? That trial was all show and you know it—as if his daughter couldn't have pulled the strings and set him free any second."

"I don't know—she's not terribly keen on the idea of Vader being her biological father. I don't think she'd mind seeing him thrown to the nexus."

"Again, you are missing the point—people need closure. Didn't you hear about the riot?"

"Which one?"

"Don't be dense, the one we passed on our way to the studio earlier! Vader opens his mouth to say one word and the whole crowd starts screaming for his blood—if we can get him admitting that he's a war criminal on public holovision, then we'll have achieved the biggest journalistic feat in the history of news."

"You've clearly been thinking about this," Nola said, sitting up from his recumbent position and sounding serious for once, "but I just don't think you thought this all the way through—what if he doesn't say anything good? What if no one picks it up? What if he chokes you before we even get started? You're risking a lot, 'Pera, and chances are you won't gain anything at all…"

"That's enough," she replied, coolly, and began re-applying her blush.

As it turned out, Anakin _did_ end up accompanying Luke to the appointment with D'tol—as did Leia. She appeared at their door, fully ready to verbally tangle with her father until she received some sort of concession, and Luke had told her about the reporter's offer.

_My son is a fool._

Leia had demanded she go as well—"Espera D'tol is smart, and she's tricky- she's more than good enough to hoodwink both of you into agreeing to something you don't want. I might as well be there to make sure you two don't get totally robbed in the negotiations," she said, and despite her father's protests that there were not going to_ be_ any negotiations, she refused to budge.

Back in the present, Luke cordially greeted the hostess at Republica Evenings, smiling as though the restaurant had not gone completely silent upon their arrival.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I believe we have a reservation, maybe under the name D'tol…?"

The hostess, a rather harassed-looking Rodian, pointed to an elegant table next to a window overlooking Upper Coruscant and squeaked. She never once took her black eyes off Anakin.

"Yes…um, thanks," Luke mumbled, and they made their way to the table- Leia, just as queenly in her bearing as her mother, Luke with his hands folded in the folds of his tunic and looking pensive, and Anakin Skywalker- tall, amor-clad (though now in his New Republic whites), and the recipient of every gaze in the room. He had a mind to turn suddenly and shout, just to see if it would startle all the patrons into falling out of their chairs. He pushed aside the tempting fantasy as they approached their adversaries. D'tol stood immediately, offering to shake hands with Luke and Leia (who accepted) and finally Anakin (who very reluctantly accepted, noting the look on her face when her small, slim hand slid into his massive durasteel one). Her companion remained seated—he looked as though he had some Zeltron heritage and was nonplussed by having late lunch with a Sith. He was either very brave or incredibly stupid—likely the latter.

"May I get you something to drink?" Espera asked, motioning for a waiter—who appeared like magic, taking drink orders with shaky hands. Espera had a small fruit juice, her companion something that sounded poisonously alcoholic, while Luke and Leia both asked for water- the waiter turned to ask Anakin what he wanted and received an icy glare for his efforts. After a tense moment he scuttled off, and Anakin gazed out the window longingly as D'tol began chattering away.

"I understand you all have some concerns about this project, so let me assure you," she started, leaning forward and causing the firegem in her hairpiece to catch the light, "that by no means is this some sort of stunt or ruse—this is journalism working as it should, as a link between the masses and their elected leaders."

Anakin snorted derisively, and Luke gave him a warning glare. D'tol continued as though she had not heard.

"What I'm proposing is an interview- a series of interviews, actually, given consecutively over three days on live holovision. The topics covered will be the ones people really want to hear about—the rise of the Empire, Anakin Skywalker the man, your past with the Jedi and Sith, your decision to defect…" the last topic hung in the air like a question, as if she meant to drive home that few believed his story.

"Those are all private things," Anakin said, curtly. "It is no one's business but mine whether or not I stayed along the path of the Jedi or anything else."

"But that's just it," D'tol cut in, her eyes beginning to shine. "You aren't a private man—you are the very opposite of a private man. You—and you alone!—were directly involved in the overthrow of two galactic governments over the past two decades, you served as head of the Republic Armies and as Second-in-Command of the Empire, you currently have your finger hovering over the button that, if pressed, could plunge us back into war with the Imperial Remnant—and no one knows a thing about you! People fear things they don't understand, Mister Secretary."

Her eyes gleamed triumphantly, and more than anything in the world Anakin wanted to throw her against the transparisteel window and out into Coruscanti traffic.

"Do not presume to lecture me about fear, Miss D'tol," he grated, feeling a small curl of pleasure when she paled slightly. "I have been spreading fear throughout this Galaxy since before you were born."

"Really," she said, folding her arms over her chest. "And you are going to try and scare the Remnant into good behavior, negotiations be damned? You sound like you want to send us back to war."

"Now you imply that I enjoy inter-planetary slaughter, that I would like nothing more than to see the Galaxy thrown back into chaos…"

"Well, I don't know that you don't want that, do I?" she replied, smugly. She inclined her head slightly, and Leia looked impressed. Anakin turned to Luke, who gave the slightest shrug of his shoulders, as if to say _she has us there, Father_.

"If Anakin agrees to these interviews," Leia cut in, "what topics will be covered? Will there be some sort of monetary compensation?"

"All of these things are open to negotiation…if Mister Skywalker is willing," Espera said, fixing her gaze on Anakin.

_Remember what Leia was saying earlier, _Luke sent him through the Force._ If you could tell people more about what good you hope to do for the Galaxy…well, it could make your next public address go much smoother._

Anakin glared at Luke, but conceded his point.

"I want to hear terms before I agree to anything."


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you, once again, for all your kind responses and reviews-- I keep on scrolling back through them, feeling massively unworthy of their praise! I will deserve that praise even less after the second half of my note-- the actual interview isn't going to happen until the climax of the story-- so at least two or three more chapters, maybe more. Sorry, sorry! I'll try to keep the chapters in between as interesting as I can. Thank you again for reading 3_

"I thought you said you were accompanying us to prevent any sort of highway robbery!" Anakin shouted, back in his apartment.

"I can't say I didn't- we made out like bandits. What could you possibly have to complain about?"

"I am _complaining_ about the assault you plan to launch on my dignity with this little public relations game of yours!"

"_What_ dignity?!" Leia snapped, as the last thin strand of patience within her gave way. "When have you _ever_ conducted yourself in public in a manner even _resembling_ dignified?"

"I hardly go about in public talking about my _feelings_ regarding the Emperor!" Anakin shouted back, "and certainly I do not allow vapid holonet talking heads to interrogate me over my childhood, and I do not cavort around_ without my mask_!"

This had been the major sticking point—D'tol had nearly received a fork in her eye when she said in no uncertain terms that the interview had to take place in Anakin's apartments—more specifically, his meditation chamber.

"If we can't see your face, the whole interview's pointless!" She insisted, while Luke kept a firm hand on his father's shoulder. "We lose a whole dimension of your answers—body language and facial expression are just as important as words, and without them...if you'll forgive me for being frank, I've seen droids more expressive than you can be."

_Don't choke her, _Luke had thought at him, sternly. Anakin was seething over the droid comment. _Don't you dare. _

"If you're going to prove you're human, Anakin, then you have to let people know you don't sleep in that tin can—D'tol has us there," Leia said, busying herself with Luke's holonet terminal. Luke sprawled on the couch, silently digesting the events of their meeting.

"I do not have to prove I am human—I simply _am_!"

"Well, you sure as Sith Hell don't act like it! You don't act like any humanoid—or any species in the Galaxy! She's right about that, you don't have any more capacity to feel or think that an assassin droid-"

Anakin brought his fist down on a granite tabletop, and cracks raced across the surface in an intricate web. Luke made a mental note to call a maintenance man- _again._

"There is more to me than bloodshed and tyranny! I thought you understood that you are the proof of that—the remnants of Anakin Skywalker! I will act however I please because I do not owe anything more than that to anyone—I belong to me!"

"What are you on about?" Leia said, whirling around. Luke stood by uneasily, growing concerned. Desperation colored his father's rage- his father was many things, but never _desperate_. He never _begged_. Luke reached into the Force and sent Leia a warning, asking her to calm down. She brushed him off.

"It was the same during the Clone Wars!" Anakin went on. "At least _then_ the scandal-mongers and holoreporters had the decency to leave the Jedi alone—whatever the Jedi themselves thought, I do not belong to the Galaxy! I do not belong to the Emperor! I do not belong to the Jedi, the Sith—I have no compulsion to serve anyone's will because _I am not a slave_!"

"And nobody is suggesting you are! You are imagining things, Anakin, and it's got to stop! You have to give this interview because it is our very last chance to drum up some public support for you and your cause—where are you going?" Anakin didn't answer as he stalked past her, causing the door to slam behind him despite the fact that it was automated. Leia repeatedly stabbed the entry pad with her finger, but to no avail.

"You're _hiding_ again! Come out here and talk to me, damn it!" There was no reply. "You know what? Fine! Fine! Be a child! You win, Anakin, you can stay in there and give orders via flimsiplast notes for all I care- you just _can't be helped_!"

Leia didn't even glance at her brother as she stormed out, and he didn't mention that her dramatic exit was eerily similar to Anakin's. He sighed heavily and stood up from the couch, walking over to the door and gently knocking.

"Father? Father, will you let me in?"

There was no answer.

"You can't just lock me out of the hallway, father, I need to get into the study."

Again, no answer.

"I really don't want to have to hack the lock in my own apartment—I didn't think our living together would come to this."

Even this appeal to Anakin's fatherly instincts was ineffective, and Luke sighed again. It took him the better part of ten minutes to override the damage his father had done to the locking mechanism- even then, the doors only opened a quarter of the way, and Luke was forced to hold his breath and wriggle through.

_Just another thing Anakin's broken…_

Luke shook himself- he'd fallen into Leia's habit of referring to his father by his first name whenever he started acting unusually bad, as if they were only acquaintances or colleagues and not family. _It's easier to pretend that only Anakin acts this way_, Luke thought grimly, _and that my father is another man entirely—to say the least of Vader._

Luke made his way into the study, giving his father as much time to cool down as possible. He idly rifled through datapads, a confused jumble of his own plans to rebuild the Jedi Order and his father's terse accounts of New Republic campaigns. Leia often expressed her disgust at the state of disarray they left their things in, but seldom tried to make any permanent changes in their organization habits. Both of the siblings agreed that Anakin Skywalker, the military adviser who left his things lying about, was a much more comfortable presence to be around than the austere, clockwork, methodical Vader. Luke sighed as he looked around at his attempts to personalize the study—they fell flat more often than not, given his father's penchant to move anything not immediately 'useful' into a cupboard out of sight.

_Speaking of my father…_

Luke made his way down the hall slowly, stopping before the door to his father's suite. The chambers within, he knew from experience, were even more bare and severe than the study. With the exception of a personal holoterminal, a wall-mounted computer unit, and numerous resources for repair and upkeep of his medical equipment (not to mention said equipment), the rooms were stark, white, and empty; the same as they had been when he and his father had first moved in. It simply wasn't _healthy_.

The lock on his father's chambers had been disabled during an earlier disagreement and Luke let himself in, making his presence flare in the Force in lieu of knocking. He made his way through an entryway and numerous unused rooms—the fact that his father chose to sleep as physically far from the 'outside world' was another thing that troubled Luke-- and found his father sitting cross-legged in another empty room. There was a single window (one of the only unboarded ones Anakin's half of the apartment) mounted high up on the wall; naturally, his father's back was to it. The one-way opening to the rest of Coruscant had been a heatedly contested matter ("They are _my_ quarters!" "You _have_ to see the sun!"), one of many. Today, the late afternoon sun made its way through the tinted, barred windows and played across his father's deeply scarred and worn face, making the shadows beneath his eyes seem even darker than usual.

"I am _trying_ to meditate on this latest insult to my person," his father rasped, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "I would _appreciate_ it if you would respect my wish for privacy."

"That's not a successful way to meditate, Father, even I know that," Luke said, taking a seat on the floor directly before his father. Even sitting, the man seemed to tower over him—his ramrod straight posture (aided by literal durasteel prosthesis in his back) made him look imposing, even without his mask and armor.

"Talk to me."

"I believe I just did."

"This is your one chance to show the rest of the Galaxy who you really are—to show them who my father is. Why are you trying to sabotage it?"

"The Galaxy does not care overly much about your idealized perceptions of me- they have experienced twenty years of the man I _truly_ am."

"You're not just Vader," Luke admonished, dropping his playful demeanor. "You fight to control that part of yourself every day- you at least deserve to be seen as more than that. After all, if they remember you from the Clone Wars—"

"I was no more a hero during the Clone Wars than I am today," his father hissed, curling his hands into fists beside him. "There were no heroes—it was a sham war to begin with. Even then, they were a fool to idolize me—Jabiim is proof enough of that."

"You were eighteen," Luke said, softly, "it wasn't your fault—"

"Then whose was it?" Anakin snapped, uncurling and pushing himself off the floor—awkwardly, splaying his legs and using his hands more than an accomplished warrior and Jedi should have to. "Who do the survivors of that miserable campaign turn to when they wish to lay their dead at the feet of the one responsible?"

"That's not even what I came to discuss," Luke said, making a clumsy effort to move his father off the subject of his failings. Anakin stared out the window, hands clasped behind his back and feet shoulder with the part in what Luke privately referred to as his father's 'Stubborn Eopie' stance. Much like the ornery beasts of his native Tatooine, it took a cargo freighter to get his father to budge once he dug in his heels. Luke stood beside him, giving the hectic traffic a brief glance before looking up into his father's stony face.

"I can wait, you know."

The rewarding flicker of emotion (a slightly protruding vein in his father's forehead) was Luke's only response. He had done it before—he'd spent hours combating his father's stony silence with his presence, following him wherever he went, going so far as to stand outside the 'fresher. "Like water wearing down mountain," Leia had said, impressed. "Like rust eating through a ship's hull," Anakin grunted.

"You seem convinced that I will somehow be inspired- perhaps by the Force- to say a few dozen words that will bring the Galaxy together as a cohesive whole," his father began, after a hostile silence. "You are not simply naïve for believing I have that capability—you have completely disengaged yourself from reality."

"You think you're going to make a gaffe?" Luke asked, his voice understanding a betraying no hint of his amusement.

"I am not Leia- I am not…Padmé," Anakin admitted, as though the name was being forcibly dragged from his lips. "I am not a philosopher. I do. I act. All the tongues of the Galaxy cannot convey what I hear through the Force."

"Just say that, then!" Luke replied, laying flat against the floor with his hands behind his head. "They'll appreciate honestly at least—anything that makes you seem more…personable."

"She will make a fool of me, one way or the other—humiliate me by insisting that I recite each and everyone one of my failures before an audience of trillions, or worse yet, make me out to be some sort of overly-sentimental idiot."

Luke sighed heavily. "Father…there is no chance of that. You will not even admit to _yourself_ that you have feelings."

"I am the master of my feelings."

"Of course you are," Luke replied breezily, and chuckled at the glare his father gave him.

"You don't have to worry about going in there unprepared—Leia and I are hardly going to leave you out to dry. There's nothing to be _afraid_ of."

"I have had enough of this," his father said, dismissively, and Luke touched his shoulder gently before turning to go. He sensed that he wouldn't be able to make any more progress with his father today.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I hate to sound like a broken record, but each and every review I've received is wonderful and kind. I hate to get your hopes up with a new chapter that focuses entirely on OCs, but it is important for amping up the ~drama~-- nothing can ever be easy for Anakin, after all. Also, this chapter pays homage to a similar scene in Frost/Nixon, an excellent movie and the inspiration for this fic. _

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" 'Pera, we just made it out of a meeting with Darth Vader alive- alive and _with the deal we went in to make _made."

_Not quite_, Espera thought, grimly. Admittedly, even in her wildest dreams she hadn't thought she would get Skywalker to agree to her conditions of interviewing him alone, mask-less, and in his own home; but she also hadn't been counting on Senator Organa to be at his side and milking the event for all she could. She'd bartered like a Tatooine junk salesman, and Espera ended up paying nearly double her initial offer in credits—"All of which are going to charity," Organa concluded, smugly. One and a half million credits for war orphans in exchange for five nights of live interviews each lasting two hours—certainly and underhanded attempt to make Vader appear like some great humanitarian, though who Organa thought she was fooling Espera could only speculate.

" Shouldn't we be celebrating?" Nola whined, unswayed by her silence.

"You are. You're having a glass of Whyren's as we speak."

Nola swished the contents of his glass idly. "I mean, properly. At the very least a victory party, maybe call up a few of your loved ones just in case Vader decides to take you out on-air… anything that doesn't involve spending hours in this bucket of bolts going to Axxila, of all places—it's practically the headquarters of the Imperial Remnant!"

"And that's why we're taking a ship that still has all the old Imperial codes and transmissions on its computer— these people live in a fool's paradise, they haven't changed a thing since V - E Day."

"But _why_—why would we do something like this?" Nola asked plaintively.

"I'm tracking down an old…acquaintance of mine: Sal Ferron. We need him for this interview; he's something of a Vader-scholar. Right now, Vader's holding all the cards—we have no idea if he intends to tell the truth or anything resembling the truth. He won't be able to wriggle out of any tricky questions if we can nail him on the details."

"A Vader scholar? Since when was the Empire so forthcoming with details—or tolerant of anyone asking questions?"

"I didn't say he worked for the Empire," Espera said, evenly. "Do you remember when I told you that I've committed some minor…treason…before?"

"I almost don't want to know where you're going with this."

"When I was interning at Imperial News Networks…how I met Sal's not important, but as it turns out he was the Rebellion's expert on Darth Vader- it was one of those 'know thine enemy' projects. I guess they thought if they learned enough about him they could figure out what made him so…invincible."

"And _where_ does treason come into this?" Nola asked, his voice laden with sarcasm.

"He told me he was about to crack a big case…but needed access to some very sensitive documents in the Imperial Censure Bureau. To make a very long story short, I used my student ID and an assortment of increasingly fantastic lies to obtain a lot of classified information for him before he vanished into thin air. I barely managed to wipe my hands clean when he took off, and almost ended up on Despayre for it. He owes me a favor."

"We're going deep into Remnant space to ask a man who worked for the Rebellion to help us interview Darth Vader, after he already left you high and dry once—answer me one more question about this idiotic plan."

"Since you put it so _nicely_, of course."

"Why are you dragging me along?!" he exclaimed.

"I may be stupid enough to risk my life and career on one desperate gamble for recognition, and I certainly am stupid enough to travel to this crime-ridden dump of a planet to track down a man who may be dead, but I'm not stupid enough to do it by _myself_."

------------------------------------------------------------------

Espera's shady connections from her days of passing along the occasional piece of information to rebel spies were just as sharp as they were before the Rebellion's victory over Endor; Ferron's apartments turned out to be the third address they tried. Espera schooled her face in an impartial, professional mask as her heels clattered against the rusty durasteel balcony outside Ferron's peeling door. She took a deep breath, looking to Nola for support—he only pulled a face and edged away from the railing, which was coated in the droppings of some local bird. She knocked twice, took a brief pause, then tapped out three more staccato notes-- the door opened beneath her curled fist to reveal a shadowy interior. Deep within the shadows was a ragged looking Twi'lek, holding a blaster aimed at her chest.

"Not happy to see me, Sal?" she quipped. Nola threw his hands up in the air in the universal sign for surrender. Ferron eased up on his blaster, but still regarded them suspiciously as he edged from the shadows.

"Didn't think I was having company," he replied, evenly, "Especially not…an old friend."

"Yeah, because the Rebellion was such a chummy lot—" Espera snapped, but was cut off as Ferron snatched her collar and hauled her inside. Nola followed, as the Twi'lek (a dingy orange once in the light) stuck his head out the door, searching for imaginary eavesdroppers.

"I figured you'd be mad, but I didn't think you'd try to get me killed," he hissed, jamming as many security codes as he could into the door.

"You're living on New Imperial Center!" She exclaimed, despite Nola's sharp gestures to lower her voice. "There's only an _entire Republic_ of planets that would welcome you back with open arms."

Ferron scoffed. "Trade my integrity for a hero's welcome? Not a chance. The job's not done- Vader's weaseled his way into the Senate and out of prison, no one's free yet."

"That's what we're here about, actually," Espera said, idly dusting off a suspiciously stained couch before laying down her coat and sitting on _that_. "We need a favor, and you owe me six."

"Running a cheap exposé on Vader's love life?" Ferron snorted, "Go kriff yourself. I'm busy here- turns out the Empire wasn't as meticulous in destroying its incriminating documents as they thought."

"For your information," she replied, buffing her nails and hiding her indignation, "I'm interviewing Vader—live."

"Liar."

"I'm either a fluff-spewing hack or I'm lying? I should have turned you into the Censure Bureau the minute I met you, you arrogant conspiracy-quack!"

"There's no conspiracy about it—Vader just won't talk. He doesn't, he can't. The man just isn't able to think for himself!" Sal laughed, revealing slightly yellowed teeth.

"Well, he's talking to me, and you can help me nail him on-air or you can run off on another wild rill chase," Espera replied, smugly. She was rewarded by the look of calculated interest Ferron shot her.

"You're serious," he said, in disbelief. "You think you're getting Darth Vader to actually give you a straight answer in front of the entire Galaxy—one that doesn't consist of monosyllables or Imperial propaganda crap?"

"Pretty good for a tabloid hack," she replied, coolly.

"You sure think pretty highly of yourself for someone who was more than happy to spew those same Imperial talking points straight out of the university. Or was that all forgiven with the New Republic—you and Vader both?"

"I can't recall who it was that risked her life and livelihood to get some scummy Rebel mole some very, very important information. I think it may have been...why, it was _me_!" she said, with mock thoughtfulness. Her voice turned steely. "You owe me, Ferron."

"You didn't even know what you were doing!" Sal shot back, rolling his eyes. "I told you I was working for the Alderaani Truth Bureau."

"And I am telling you right now that this is your chance to actually get Vader—not through some pamphlet you hand out on the streets, not some cryptic graffiti scratched in a back alley—live. On the holonet. Make him spool out the rope for his own hanging."

Suspicion and naked greed warred on Ferron's face; the appearance of a way to make his dream come true won out.

"Vader's evil," he said, slowly. "Vader's just as foul as the Emperor, in his own way—you can't let him weasel out of this. He has to answer for what he did. He's escaped justice, both the law and the mob, and this could be our last chance to force him out of the government and into the Unknown Regions. I'm not signing onto this unless you think you can deliver- this is bigger than whatever publicity you're trying to drum up, this is about _justice_. Vader gets out of this, and the New Republic will be shown for what it is—a fraud, a cheap propped-up incarnation of the failed Old Republic." His eyes glinted with passion.

"I'll sign on—but can you swear to me that you're going to do this right?"

"I'm pretty good for a tabloid hack," Espera said again, standing. "I'll do it or I'll die trying- which is possible, considering the man we're dealing with." She held out her hand to shake.

"Not so fast—you need me," Sal grinned, showing all of his pointed yellow teeth. "I need some financing to get this expedition underway- don't look indignant, 'Pera. You of all people should know that information is costly."

Nola mimed digging through his pockets, then fluttered his fingers like a moth. The message was clear—_we don't have the money he wants_—but Espera had come too far to let that stop her.

"When can we start?"


	5. Chapter 5

Luke's father had _seemed_ grateful for his offer of help in preparing for the interview, but so far Anakin had failed to initiate anything. In fact, he seemed eager to avoid discussing the subject altogether, burying himself in his work- which was growing more and more difficult as the situation with the Remnant continued to deteriorate. Things came to a head, however, only a few days before the first scheduled interview was to take place.

Luke had been pouring over his meager collection of knowledge salvaged from Obi-Wan's belongings and other sources, trying to find an appropriate place to create a new Jedi Temple when his commlink buzzed. He sensed it was Leia (he always could) and opened it with a flick of his wrist.

"Leia?"

"Luke, it's Anakin," she said, muttering under her breath. From the looks of it, she was in a Senate meeting, and avoided looking down at the comm in her lap so it would appear as though she were paying attention to whatever grandstanding was taking place at the moment.

"Father? He's at the Senate?"

"No," she hissed back, "but the news feed says there's a riot going on outside his office at the Department of Justice- and I _know_ he has something to do with it."

Luke nodded, unable to muster up pride at his sister's growing Force abilities. "I'm on my way."

And with that he raced for the landing pad, not even bothering to shut his comm. He leapt into the cockpit of his speeder and started it in one fluid motion, anxiously drumming his fingers against the navicomp as it warmed up. His attention was only partially on the mad rush of traffic around him as he merged into the first major skyway he came across, and he cast his senses about wildly, hoping to make some sort of contact with his father. Unfortunately, the sheer number of life forms on Coruscant made it near-impossible to distinguish any one being, even one with a strong and distinctive Force presence.

He was unable to pick out his father's presence, but the riot was hard to miss. A thin plume of smoke curled up through the levels of traffic and towards space, and the closer he drew the louder the clamor became. Angry shouts of the dissenters, law enforcement officials shouting into megaphones, and the odd explosion or crash ran together in a cacophonous jumble, and only a few heads turned as Luke circled overhead, anxiously searching for one familiar armor-clad figure. A man who towered over six feet tall and wore all white should be painfully obvious, but Luke circled again and again, just to be certain he wasn't missing something. Finally he brought down his speeder atop the elaborate Department of Justice, flipping open his credentials as a member of the New Republic Jedi to a few stunned security guards before hurtling in the turbolift.

_Father? _He 'called', anxiously. _Father?_

Luke nearly fell out of the turbolift when it arrived at Anakin's floor. He threw himself against the door to Anakin's office, unnerved when it gave way easily.

"Father! Fa-" Luke stopped short at the sight of his father, standing serenely before a transparisteel window, hands clasped behind his back and watching the furious tumult outside.

"What did you expect? That I would rush out into the crowd and begin cracking skulls?" his father rumbled, continuing to gaze placidly out the window.

"Something like that," Luke murmured, still trying to catch his breath. "Are you just…watching?"

"Yes. Unless you think they would be placated by an appearance?"

Luke shook his head, even though his father's tone was bitterly sarcastic. "My speeder's on the roof, we can leave on it right now."

His father continued to gaze out the window. "There are always a few stubborn radicals with signs outside—but never this many. And they usual are not so…incensed."

"They're probably scared," Luke replied, uneasily. "No one wants to go to war with the Remnant, not when we finally have…peace."

Luke knew full well that 'peace' was too strong a word for what the uneasy cease-fire between the numerous warring factions of the Galaxy.

"They are hardly making it easier for me to do my job!" Anakin snapped. "I would be more than willing to hand it over to one of those shouting maniacs outside—it is not as though I enjoy keeping the last of the Moffs in line."

"They don't know that, Father," Luke said, as gently as he could. "They're allowed to voice their concerns-"

"They are making a nuisance of themselves," he growled. "They are accomplishing nothing."

"They're making their voices heard," Luke answered, firmly. "Every sentient being has that right. You're thinking like this is the Empire again."

This finally drew Anakin's attention away from the window, but before he could begin berating Luke for his observations the door to his office flung open once again. This time, however, it revealed a lone protestor—the frantic seconds in which she ran towards his father seemed to stretch in time, becoming hours, and Luke thought _she must have slipped past the guards in all the confusion, Father had better make sure they are all qualified for their jobs, _even as Anakin drew his lightsaber. Luke's hand shot out to intercept his father's strike, forcing him to lower his blade, and the protestor—a young Theelin-looking girl- skidded to a halt.

"Butcher!" she shouted, and threw the contents of the bucket she was holding directly at his father. A thick, viscous liquid splashed against Anakin's chest, dribbling deep crimson that stood out very conspicuously against his gleaming whites. They all stood perfectly still, as if frozen- the warlord, the Jedi, and the outspoken revolutionary, staring at one another in disbelief. The moment was broken by the sounds of reinforcements on their way from below, and the girl took off running. Luke had half a mind to chase her down, shout at her that this was his father and he was trying very hard, but even in his head that sounded stupid.

"Father?" he asked instead. Anakin had not yet moved. Slowly, very slowly, he ran one white-gloved hand across his chest; it came away bloody.

"It's real," Anakin said, sounding distant. His gaze was fixed on his hand.

"Here, let me…" Luke said, moving closer. Anakin brushed him off and headed towards the door.

"Father, the turbolift to the roof is—"

"I am leaving in my _own ship_!" he barked back, "I will not slink off, like a nek hound with my tail between my legs! _They have not bested me_!"

"Father—" Luke protested, but was thrown backwards by an invisible hand, as the door swung shut of its own accord. He pulled himself to his feet and looked out the window—just in time to see his father, towering over the jeering crowd and with his helmet gleaming in the bloody red sunset. One unfortunate protestor drew too close and Anakin swung his hand, throwing the man back into the crowd. The force his impact knocked the few who tried to catch him flat on their backs.

Luke closed his eyes, silently pleading Obi-Wan for some advice, anything to make his Father calm down. His former master didn't answer, and he instead went to reclaim his speeder and hopefully meet his father at home.

-----

Anakin had managed to beat Luke home, mostly due to his total disregard for his own safety and that of others. When Luke did manage to make it in the apartment (he'd been tailed by a few news speeders and had only just managed to lose them) he found his father in the section of his quarters set aside as a make-do medcenter, stripped to the waist and pouring boiling-hot water from the 'fresher atop his armor. His chest plate and gloves lay in a heap atop a surgical-steel table, in addition to his pauldron and body glove. The excess water that dribbled off the table and onto the floor splashed against his boots, but did not seem to affect his lower prostheses. Luke made a mental note to step lively.

"You are going to scald yourself," he said. His father did not look up from his manic cleaning.

"I already have," he grunted, over the hiss of steam as another bucketful of water was tossed across the gleaming durasteel. Luke recoiled in horror at the angry red burns on his father's cheek as Anakin finally turned to look up at him.

"I was not wearing a filter- they made it through the grill of my mask—foolish, will not happen again."

"What…" Luke said, unable to full comprehend what he was seeing. "What are you _doing_?"

"Why do we not have an autoclave?" his father snapped, in lieu of an answer. "None of this is clean. I can still smell blood on it-"

"Calm down!" Luke exclaimed, making his way over to his father's side. He jumped to avoid another wave of boiling water. "Just, calm down—listen to yourself, you're raving!"

"It's filthy," his father growled, under his breath. "It's filthy; my hands are filthy, and I can still smell blood-"

Luke turned to rummage through a nearby cabinet for a bacta patch. He was unsuccessfully trying to get his father to allow him to apply it when Leia burst through the door.

"Are you stupid?" she shouted, nonplussed by Anakin's frantic and bizarre behavior. "I called you to make sure that he—" she jerked her thumb towards her father, "didn't make a scene! Turn on the news!"

"Now isn't the time for-"

"Turn on the news!"

Leia dug through her pockets, withdrawing a closed fist. She threw down her hand-held commlink and switched it to the New Republic News' frequency. A grainy holo of Anakin, covered in blood and frozen in the act of shoving his way through the crowd from earlier appeared. An announcer chattered on, but Luke couldn't make out what he was saying over Leia's shouts.

"Do you have any idea how to present yourself in front of people? We're scheduled to do these interviews to placate the public! Any moment the CSF is going to burst in here and—"

"I cannot be tried for assault," Anakin answered, without acknowledging Leia. He was now dousing his suit with harsh-smelling chemicals. "It was purely self defense."

"They're coming here because it looked like you _murdered_ someone! Why in the Sith hells would you prance around in front of the entire Galaxy with blood spattered all over you?"

"It wasn't actually his fault," Luke protested. "Some girl managed to slip past security and she threw—"

"I don't even want to hear it," Leia fumed. "I don't want to hear any more excuses. I am not cleaning up after you anymore—and if that means I have to teach you have to appear as though you are a sensible human being, then I will. Starting _now_. Put some damn clothes on and _get into the living room_!"

----------------

Once again, Luke had underestimated his sister. What he thought was a baseless threat made in the heat of the moment had turned out to be a promise.

"I am going to ask you again, Anakin," Leia ground out, and though she were having trouble unclenching her teeth enough to talk. "Where. Were. You. Born."

"That is not relevant and I refuse to answer."

"You can't refuse to answer! That is not an option!" Leia looked livid. "_Tatooine_ is an option! _Corellia_ is an option! _In the heart of Unknown Space_ is even an option! You have got to stop fighting me over this; I am trying to help you!"

"I was under the impression that I was engaging D'tol in order to discuss policy-"

"Your policy was _evil_, Anakin! The Empire was evil! We are talking about the Empire as little as possible! If D'tol tosses you a softball question like this then you take it and run with it!"

"It is no one's business."

"It became everyone's business when you overthrew the elected government and set up a despot!"

They had had this argument many, many times before. Even Luke was ready to give up by now, but Leia was a woman possessed- her hair had fallen out of its professional bun and frizzed angrily.

"I don't know." Anakin finally answered, sullenly.

"What?!"

"I said I do not know!"

"How do you not—"

"My mother was in transit!" Anakin shouted, startling even Luke. "No one wanted to buy a pregnant slave, especially one who was ill and not expected to survive the birth, so she was being carted all over the Galaxy in an overcrowded freighter when I was born!" He crossed his arms, as if to say 'there, take it or leave it'.

"Alright," Leia said, slowly. "That was good—for a start. Now, I'm going to ask you again, and this time when you answer…"

Luke fully sympathized when his father buried his face in his hands. It was going to be a very, very long three days- and his father may even be looking forward to the interview by then, if only to escape his daughter.

------------------------

_A/N: You all have been so patient with me...next chapter: the interview begins!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Come on_, Espera thought to herself. _Come on, come on, you're ready. You can do this_.

She stood in the hallways outside of the Skywalker/Skywalker residence, taking deep breaths. Nola had gone in moments before with his crew to begin setting up, and she stayed behind to quell her anxiety. For weeks she had prepared for this—memorizing facts, creating strategies and counter-strategies to deal with whatever Vader chose to throw at her, mentally envisioning his own plan of attack. It had taken some of the more dubious contents of Nola's medicine cabinet to get her to sleep last night, but she would not risk being doped on-air. She need every last ounce of energy—even if it took the form of frightened butterflies that careened about her stomach, making her feel both invincible and nauseous.

Her nerves were already wound tightly, and she nearly jumped out of her skin when the door she was contemplating opening slid open. Her hand flew instinctively to her mouth as Luke Skywalker poked his head out, scanning the hallways. When he saw her he grinned sheepishly.

"I sensed…" he started, but seeing the look on her face, caught himself and went on with: "I thought there might be someone out here. Would you like to…come in?"

_No thanks, I think I might go and throw up first_, she thought sarcastically. There was no escape now, so she smiled graciously as he stood aside to allow her in.

She'd expected the abode of the only two Jedi Knights in the entire galaxy to be shocking, somehow—mystic tomes thrown about carelessly, or strange symbols scratched on the walls. Despite the fantastic possibilities she'd conjured up, she still found herself taken aback—but by how _normal_ it was. There was a small kitchen area, set apart from a living room/lounge by a raised bar. There were a few datapads stacked on a low table, a holoterminal, a rug…and nothing else. Not for the first time, Espera entertained the frantic notion that she'd been tricked somehow, that the blond Jedi with sweet blue eyes was really much more cunning than he pretended to be.

"Father's back here," he said, motioning her towards another archway—this one looked as though there had been a door there earlier, but it had very recently been removed. A few stray wires hung from the frame. "He's really quite excited…"

Espera followed him, wondering stupidly why he was telling her this before she remembered he was talking about Vader, of all people. It was surreal. Luke chattered on, either out of nervousness or simple friendliness, and she was content to let him talk—the further back into the apartment she went, the creepier it got. There was no change in the decor, just—a feeling. A creeping sensation that she just couldn't shake. Luke fiddled with yet another keypad, giving her a glimpse into the chaos that went with making a space holoshow-worthy, and the familiar glare of Nola's lights gave her new courage. The room was a stark white, offset by various shades of pearly gray, which the two black armchairs seated before a caf table in the middle all the more striking. The inhabitant of the further chair made her stop dead in her tracks, frozen as Luke Skywalker's simple chatter faded into a meaningless drone.

Anakin Skywalker's eyes were exactly the same shade as his son's- clear, sky blue, but piercing and vivid where his son's were gentle and warm. There were lines at the corners (deep and speaking of anything but laughter), purple-black shadows that stretched down almost to his cheeks, and a distinct lack of eyebrows. His was constantly moving, shifting back and forth in his chair, crossing and uncrossing his arms, turning to scowl as a light was focused across his face or a tech tried to move his chair. He lacked his son's healthy tan, and beneath the scars that crisscrossed his entire head, his pallid skin almost glowed under the lights, giving him an eerie, unearthly look. Her staring had hardly been inconspicuous, and when Vader turned his scowl on her the coldness of his gaze made her feel very, very small.

"I see you finally deigned to arrive," he said. His voice hardly carried, and what she caught was thin and raspy—it was foolish to think that he was born sounding like an eight-foot tall Geonosian gladiator droid, but even when presented with reality Espera had trouble believing it. She lowered herself into her own armchair, feigning indifference as she idly flipped through her notes.

"Much to do," she replied, idly. A very scared makeup girl approached Vader, powder-puff in hand. He turned the full force of his glare on her, and she squeaked.

"Do not even contemplate it."

"But—"

"No excuses!"

"Sir, just a little…"

Vader raised two fingers and drew a slow arc in the air. The hair of the back of Espera's neck stood on end as he grated "You are going to leave me alone". The makeup girl's face went slack.

"I'm…going to leave you alone."

And with that, she was rifling through a pouch on her front, emerging with a thin eyeliner-applicator and motioning for Espera to close her eyes. Keeping with her façade of calm, she obeyed. Vader's raspy wheezing seemed even louder with her eyes shut.

"We're live in ten," Nola remarked, his voice cool and professional.

"Please hold still, Miss D'tol, I'm almost done…"

Espera waved her off, and the girl managed to straighten her headband and run a few fingers through Espera's hair before she scurried away. Her eyes adjusted easily to the brilliant stage lights—her anxiety ebbed slightly as she noticed how uncomfortable they seemed to make Vader.

"Live in five."

"Do we have mics?" she asked, glancing around. Vader's weak voice made her nervous.

"Gimme a minute…" Nola shouted at yet another harassed looking tech—they seemed to spill into the room like a flood of ants—and she was handed a small, black device. She clipped it to her suit with the ease of years' experience, watching Vader from the corner of her eye. Some poor soul had obviously drawn the short straw, and was now hovering above Vader's massive, armored chest. His expression said very clearly that the only men who had dared to get this close were now dead. Once the mic was in place the tech ran, unashamed and glad to be alive. Vader studied the mic, obviously unaware of her scrutiny, and tapped it with one curious finger.

"Don't do that!" Nola snapped, out of habit. He clearly had forgotten that this was a former dictator, not some airheaded holo-star. "The mics are _hot_!"

Vader whipped his head around and opened his mouth to snap back, but shouts of 'don't look at the camera!' and 'live in two!' clearly unnerved him, and he settled for balefully glaring his way.

"Nervous?" she asked, breezily. His brow furrowed and she could see him grinding his teeth—good. The more rattled he was, the more likely she was to catch him off-guard.

"Not in your life," he growled, a split-second before Nola's call of "we're live!"

-------------------------------

Back in the official headquarters (ie, the cheap motel room Sal was living in while he worked with Espera on her interview), a cheap holoterminal projected a flickering image of Vader. In Sal's opinion he should be arrested for having the audacity to appear in public after what he'd done to the Galaxy, but he would have to settle for vindication through Miss D'tol.

If she could pull off their plan, that was.

The camera panned out to reveal the holo-reporters face, impeccably made-up and coached into a cool, professional smile. "Thank you, ladies and gentlebeings, for tuning in tonight," she crooned, "for our very special feature. With me I have Mr. Anakin Skywalker—"

Vader's lips pressed together and his eyes narrowed, but he did not acknowledge his galaxy-wide audience.

"—who has very graciously agreed to join me." Ferron snorted, lowering himself onto the couch (which leaked stuffing, much like his previous one) and activated his datapad, preparing to take notes he could give to D'tol later.

"Mr. Secretary," D'tol continued, nonplussed by Vader's wooden behavior. "I have more than a few questions to ask you about our starting topic, your current policy in both the New Republic Navy and the Office of Intra-Republic Relations, but first, tell me—do you ever feel conflicted in your loyalties? After all, the Imperial Remnant is essentially a slice of the old Galactic Empire, minus Palpatine—"

"Of course not," Vader snapped. Sal pounded the arm of the couch in frustration—stupid! This wasn't the way to trip up Vader! If D'tol wanted Vader to stumble coming out of the gate, she'd picked the one question sure to get a response palatable to New Republic viewers.

"I have no patience for those fools- the Empire is dissolved. They could not recreate one tenth of its splendor, and are instead left with all of its failings," Vader concluded, smugly.

_Well, a partial victory—there are precious few beings who remember how _splendid_ the Empire was, _he thought, bitterly. Espera had already moved on to her second question.

"Many people claim you can only hurt the New Republic's efforts at coming to an agreement with the Imperial Remnant," she pressed on. "What plans to you have to counteract any negative feelings that might be stirred up in other ex-Imperials?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Vader asked, bluntly. Sal furrowed his brow—surely Vader wasn't trying to make himself appear a populist by acting like a simpleton from a backwater planet—but that was certainly what it looked like... _Just answer the question!_

"Answer the question please, Mr. Skywalker," D'tol replied, wryly. "Why would you be an asset to the Department of Intra-Republic relations and not a liability?"

"Because I alone know every detail of the Empire's strategies, resources, personnel and sensitive information," he ground out.

"Those things change every day- the Remnant is notorious for clinging to the past, but they're not idiots. How are you so certain that your intel is outdated?"

"The Force guides my hand in such matters," Vader replied, smugly. "There is no place they can hide from my gaze."

"You are referring of course to your…Jedi powers," Espera said, looking more than a little lost. Vader's face contorted, as if she'd made an unflattering remark about his mother.

"I refer to the living Force, which flows in and out of me with every breath I take. It gives life to everything in the Galaxy—"

"—which you proceed to take?" D'tol cut in, quickly. "Your track record makes you look like a poor servant of the Jedi's religion, if that's the case."

"Death is as much of the Force as life is," Vader answered, too quickly. "In the pursuit of galactic peace a Jedi acts as is necessary when confronted with…disturbances."

"Tell us then, about the Jedi religion," D'tol pressed. "It seems, twenty years after it was banned, to look a little…paradoxical."

"I do not know what you are implying."

"Well, for a group that claims its sole duty is to 'protect life', they seemed to have a bit of a militaristic edge to their creed. There are many records of the Jedi acting first as police officers and later as soldiers in the Clone Wars…"

"The Jedi served the Republic." Vader growled, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"So the Republic came before their 'Code', as they called it?" she asked, slyly.

_Don't try anything stupid, _Sal thought to himself, feverishly. _You haven't gotten anything out of him yet—don't blow it, D'tol. Don't—_

"Would you say, Mr. Secretary, that that was the primary reason you were able to slaughter the other Jedi- your brothers and sisters, in a sense- in order to make way for the Empire: because of their loyalty to the Old Republic?"

This was too much to bear. The camera lingered on Vader's face for a moment, as color began to rush to his cheeks, before the image dissolved. Bland music played over the familiar voice of the New Republic News Network's announcer recited the familiar message: 'unforseen technical events have taken us off the air temporarily, please wait one moment while we sort things back out'…

Ferron slapped his projector a few times before cursing it in four major trade languages. Moments later, hoarse but slightly mollified, he returned to his datapad and began typing furiously.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: ....I'll be no one even reads this story anymore, but here it is. _

Espera made it out completely unharmed, but Nola's fast thinking saved her quite a bit of embarrassment. He'd 'accidentally' cut their connection to the greater NRNN before Vader stood to his full height and stormed off the set, only to be confronted by Luke (whose stern expression had no right to mar his sweet farmboy face). Though dwarfed by his father's immense figure, Luke seemed to be scolding him- jabbing his chest with one pointed figure and whispering hotly. Vader gave in after a few inaudible replies that caused Espera's bones to resonate with his grumblings; he turned around and resumed his seat, fists clenched at his sides.

"Let us resume," he said, as though he had not come within centimeters of choking the life from her. Espera nodded, acting cowed—for now.

"My apologies," she said, as soon as Nola gave her the thumbs up. Vader looked stunned. "For that interruption…must have a mynock feeding on our power lines…"

His face fell back into its usual scowl, and Espera flashed him her most brilliant grin before shuffling her papers and resuming her questions.

The rest of the interview was tame- a few questions about policy relating to the Hapes Consortium, the Chiss Ascendancy, a few human-supremacy groups and other radicals- which turned out to be a blow to their ratings.

"Don't answer that," she snapped, as Nola thumbed her chiming comm. He raised an eyebrow before flipping it open, wincing and slamming it shut again after a few seconds of angry screaming from the diminutive Rhodian on the other end.

"Have you been getting many of these?"

"More than I'd like," she muttered, darkly. "These people have no _patience_."

"What exactly did you promise them in ratings?"

"About a half billion less than actually tuned in," she said, massaging her temples with her fingers. Nola gave a low whistle.

"You are in _hot_ water."

"Tell me something I don't know," she groaned, as her comm began to vibrate and chime again. She snatched it out of Nola's hand and flipped it open snarling "What do you _want?_" as Sal Ferron's form appeared in blue miniature.

"What in the Sith Hells was that, D'tol?"

"Sorry," she mumbled, massaging her temples once again. "I just thought—"

"Last night. What the blazing hells do you call last night—a friendly chat? I thought we were going to _nail_ Vader, once and for all!"

"Coruscant wasn't built in a day, Ferron—"

"So you threw him softball questions about the Chiss and Hapes? Your signal gave out ten minutes in, but I doubt we missed anything really—"

"You missed me coming with an inch of death by asphyxiation," she cut in, briskly, "I'm sure this all looks very simple from your armchair, but if you want to be the one who wheedles something newsworthy out of Vader while dancing out of his reach, be my guest!"

"Because combing through Vader's clandestine records that were supposed to have been destroyed years and years ago is such a walk in the park," he said, rolling his eyes. "Are you finished making excuses? Because I've got something that might just balance out the bootlicking you did last night."

"Bootlicking--!"

"Meet me at headquarters in an hour if you're interested," he said, coolly, before signing off.

"Espera?" Nola asked, gently. "Why don't you let me take the comm? You look like you're about to crush it…"

"Don't let her in, Luke," Anakin said vehemently. He was nursing a lukewarm cup of caf-substitute (regular caf was hell on his damaged innards) and brooding—though from his seat in the very domestic-looking kitchenette, it seemed much more silly than imposing.

"Leia is not forbidden from our apartment because you are not forbidden from hers," Luke said, perhaps more harshly than he meant to. It was quite early, and neither of them had gotten much sleep last night. His father's stormy expression turned even grimmer as Luke continued to press his most sensitive buttons.

"She only wants to help—because she cares," he continued, emphatically, before sliding the door open. "Hello Leia, I—"

Leia didn't reply, and instead held up a flimsy print-out from the morning's news.

VADER OPENS UP! WILL HE TELL ALL? screamed the headlines, from above a still from the interview featuring a smiling D'tol and very, very surly Anakin. Luke peered over the top at his sister, whose lips were pressed together very firmly, and held her gaze until she couldn't bear it anymore and burst out laughing.

"What is so amusing?" Anakin grated.

"It's just…oh hells, it's so shameless! I never thought I'd read an article from New Aldera Daily that sounded like it was ripped from a tabloid…"

The flimsi was ripped from Leia's grasp by invisible hands and sailed across the room, where Anakin caught it and began reading intensely. The lines on his brow furrowed even deeper.

"You never can just ask, can you?" Leia snapped. Anakin did not look up. "Would it have taken too long to say 'Leia, may I'…?"

"In twenty years, the holonews industry has not become one centimeter less shallow or shameless," Anakin said, cutting her off. He balled up the flimsi and threw it down before stalking off to his quarters.

"I'm sure what he meant to say was 'good morning'," Luke said, too cheerily for the silence that followed his father's exit.

"You really do only see the absolute best in him," Leia sighed, helping herself to some of the caf Luke had been drinking. He carefully unfolded the news articles his father had crumpled.

"Behind the mask-- where is the Galaxy's charmer now?" Luke read aloud, his eyebrows threatening to disappear into his hairline. Two side-by-side pictures—one a screen capture of his father from the interview, presumably considering an answer, and one posed picture of a young man with a arrogant quirk to his lips and brown hair that flopped across his forehead.

"Is this…?"

"The caption reads 'The Hero With No Fear, 22 BBY,' but I have a hard time believing that's not some other Jedi- there were hundreds before the purges."

"No…there's something…familiar about his face," Luke answered, quietly. "That's our father, Leia."

"Anakin doesn't smile," she objected, but she rose from her seat to peer over his shoulder. "And he certainly never looks…cocky."

"You've seen him fly against me in the sims, Leia," Luke said, wearily. "You know how he can be…competitive." Leia finally nodded, though she looked unconvinced.

"Are there any articles about what he actually said?"

"A few," Leia replied as she pulled out her datapad, pulling up a carefully collected file of articles before handing it over to Luke, "but not many. I'll give Anakin this: he was actually quite…discreet."

"Will you say that to his face?" Luke asked, quietly.

"If he ever comes out of his room," Leia retorted. He gave her a sharp look before returning to his perusal. They sat in comfortable silence while Luke got caught up on the news and Leia sipped his caf.

"Oh, it looks like you left a joke article in here by accident," Luke said, after the initial shock of reading the headline ('How to Achieve the Lord Vader Look In Quick, Easy Steps)' several times in order to make sure he wasn't missing something faded. "There's a really cruel parody in here, I'm surprised it doesn't come with cartoons."

"Did I?" Leia asked, leaning over his shoulder, "Oh, no. That one's from the Imperial Remnant. It's real."

"_No_."

"Yes, it is! Look at the source!"

"This…we can't let him see this."

"It made Han spit caf all over the Falcon's dashboard when I sent it to him. He hasn't forgiven me yet."

"What," Espera asked, staring in disbelief at the ancient computer, "is _that_? Besides ancient, I mean. Oh, and _useless_." Nola coughed discreetly at the dust flying from the keyboard.

"You contacted me," Sal grunted, laying an almost reassuring hand on the top of the unit as it whirred and clunked pitifully. "You can either take what I'm offering or do it on your own."

Espera tapped her foot. She was still smarting from his earlier remarks, though she would hardly admit that to him.

"You say this computer belonged to the Jedi?"

"Sure did. Not the Coruscant Temple, though—came from the one of Corellia. I spent a lot of favors getting a hold of it, let me tell you."

"_If _the Jedi's secrets were this easy to get a hold of, why didn't the Empire know? Hell, why isn't someone else making a blaster that fires lightsabers right now?"

"It doesn't have anything that interesting, I'm afraid," Sal said, with the air of a teacher extending undue kindness to his slowest pupil, "the Empire did manage to wipe out most of their libraries. Things like this, however—logs, supply charts, miscellaneous housekeeping—was mostly overlooked."

"You want me to confront Vader with his old Jedi laundry list?"

Sal said nothing, he simply took his hands off the keyboard and folded his arms. Espera gritted her teeth.

"I didn't mean that. Your effort is _outstanding_," she said, as though each word pained her.

"You had better believe it is- I don't think the number of orders placed for magical Jedi laundry soap is any more interesting than you do," he said, apparently placated. "Here's the interesting bit," he turned the monitor to face both her and Nola.

"See here, this crèche list? It looks like the Jedi only took applicants as infants. All the 'younglings' are listed by name, species, and age—none of them appear on the list about after five years of age. Now, if I did a search for one Anakin Skywalker—"

"Nine's not that old," Espera said, feeling crushed. "He could have just been a…later bloomer, or something."

"But its nine years of his life we don't know anything about," Sal said, again with that infuriating, superior-sounding patience. "Nine years that no one knows about, apparently—I checked the citizen logs for every major sector. He doesn't appear once."

"So he comes from an Outer Rim planet with a dislike for paperwork," Espera answered. "They weren't really known as bastions of civilization, even during the Old Republic's reign."

"Skywalker's not that common a name, though—it hardly turns up on _any_ census records. Criminal records, though…"

"Vader has a _rap sheet_?"

"We aren't that lucky. Turns out, one Shmi Skywalker was reported as kidnapped 67 BBY—with slavers as the most likely suspect."

"Keep going," Espera said, slowly.

"Turns out, the slave trade elites are a close-knit bunch with meticulous records—or they were, before one of their number was captured and their meticulous logs became public knowledge. One cleaning slave listed as 'Shmi' appears on liberated inventory rolls multiple times—though around 42 BBY her price suddenly spikes. Doubles, in fact—she's listed as being pregnant."

"And?"

"From there we have the pieces, but not the whole picture. Shmi goes to auction 40 BBY and disappears from the records entirely. However, nine years later we have reports of requests for aid from the Hutt syndicate—turns out a riot over a podrace turned nasty."

"Why do we care, Sal? Get on with it!"

"Turns out, people lost a lot of money on this particular race- they claimed it was rigged. No human's supposed to be able to _survive_ a podrace, let alone win one—though the officials refuse retract their statement that one nine-year-old human male, last name Skywalker, won the Boonta Eve Classic."

"You think Vader was a pod racing boy wonder," Espera said, her voice laden with disbelief.

"Shmi's baby would be nine Standard years old—and it would explain how the Jedi found out about some backwater slave having…well, whatever it was they were looking for."

Espera hissed. "That's a good theory, really…but we just don't have the proof to back it up. Nothing's substantial here."

"I won't waste your time with anything insubstantial, you know me better than that—do you remember the Trade Federation's blockade of Naboo?"

"Vaguely. I never could figure out what all of it was about, other than an excuse for the Empire to criticize the democratic process."

"Exactly. I thought it was more than a little boring, myself—but it turns out that was going on more or less the same time as these pod race riots. And in this article—" here he switched to his personal datapad—"a young Queen Amidala presents a posthumous award of bravery to one Qui-Gon Jinn, and two other awards- one to a Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, and one to his padawan Anakin Skywalker."

Espera couldn't breathe. About a thousand thoughts tried to make themselves heard at once, resulting in her brain simply shutting down for a few seconds.

"There's a holo," Sal said, grinning smugly.

"Pull it up! Pull it up!"

The file seemed to load with purposeful slowness. "Here we've got the queen…here's the then-Senator Palpatine…there's are Jedi, so this…" Sal zoomed in on the tiny figure.

"We're all thinking it," Nola cut in, after a moment of silence, "so I'll just say it—Vader's _adorable_."


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thank you so much for your enthusiastic responses 3_

* * *

Much to her dismay, Leia was having just as much trouble weasling information out of her father as Espera.

"Byss."

"That is privileged information."

"Like Sith Hells it is. You agreed to do this, so you may as well-"

"Byss is a strategically important bargaining point in our negociations with the so-called 'Remnant' at the moment," Vader replied, with a hint of smugness. "I cannot divulge any information without risking the security of the New Republic that you hold so dear."

"Could you possibly say that in a way that does not drive me further towards the Dark Side?"

Leia had managed to land a blow there. Vader's expression darkened dangerously.

"Do not ever speak of that possibility," he grated.

Leia rolled her eyes. "Hypocrite. You said yourself wanted that and threatened Luke with—"

"That was a different time and you know it," Vader said, cutting her off. There was an edge to his voice that was different than the usual irritation he felt at Leia's proddings.

"It was a time when I didn't have to deal with this, certainly. You jump at every sliver of bait I offer, how on Coruscant are you supposed to deal with that reporter-"

"Do _not_ be flippant about that," Vader said, in a quieter but no less furious tone than he usually employed. "You are to be a Jedi."

"I claim no such thing. I can hardly pick up my commlink from a meter away, and if the Senate caught wind of that I would be out of a job fast enough to make your helmet spin right off our head."

"You are my daughter. You are of my blood," Vader said, pushing himself out of his chair with more force that was really nessecary and towering over her. "My potiential—my power runs in your veins. It is your birthright."

"My duty to the people of Alderaan is my birthright," she replied coldly, "it's what my mother would have wanted, not some power I don't understand and can't use."

"You have no right to speak of what she would have wanted—"

"Well, I suppose I can only guess at that, can't I? You still don't seem to have any idea of what she wanted-"

That proved to be too much. Vader's hands balled into fists, and though they remained at his side he looked ready to swing a punch.

"I do not have to endure this!" he shouted. "I do not have to put up with your—your—"

"This galaxy is a mess!" Leia said, rising to her feet. Now she was just as angry as he was- a thought she quickly skittered away from even as it crossed her mind. "It's a complete wreck and you are supposed to _help clean up what you did_! You can either own up to it and act like an adult or stomp your feet like a child, and if you are unwilling to answer for what you did than you may as well be in prison serving your time for it whether you want to or not. I have had enough of trying to get you to act like you're on our side, so you can either fly off to the Remnant where they want you right now or you can sit back down and answer the kriffing question!" she finished, breathing a little harder than usual. Several strands of hair had fallen loose in her ire, adding to her scrappy appearance.

Before Vader could answer, the door chime buzzed. They turned to where the door already stood open, showing the mass of technicians who had apparently been waiting there for some time, waiting for a strategic moment to announce their presence. Nola had never been one for strategy and he waited with a quirked eyebrow in the door frame, one hand still outside the apartment and hovering over the chime.

"My apologies," he said, smoothly. "I see your both very busy-"

"No, by all means! Take him! He's all yours!" Leia seethed, gathering various datapads before pushing her way past the seemingly fearless Zeltron, "And good look getting anything useful out of him, Force knows I tried!"

There was an awkward silence between the crowd of gathered holonews employees (who should have been more than used to flaring tempers and shouting matches) and Anakin, who stood trembling and staring after Leia.

"Well," he finally barked, causing many of the gathered beings to jump in fright. "I believe you came for a purpose, not simply to gawk!"

Some brave soul in the crowd muttered 'diva' and there was a chorus of stifled chuckling. Vader's look became more poisonous and the laughter hushed, but no one was quite as intimidated as before. Apparently, Nola had been unable to resist the urge to share the holo they'd discovered to the entire production staff, only managing to stop the leak before it reached the entire Holonet. It had a devastating effect on the image of the former galactic warlord, and the decrease in tension amongst the crew served to make Vader even more uneasy.

The same makeup girl from the previous interview approached him cautiously and began unpacking her kit, not speaking but with the smallest air of defiance.

"I thought I told you—" Vader began, raising his hand and preparing to burn the command into her mind with the Force, but she cut him off.

"It's my job! Just a little, or they'll fire me!" she blurted. The display shocked him into momentary silence. "Just on the scars."

"I earned my scars in the line of duty-" he started, once again setting off on one of his more familiar tirades, but he jerked spasmodically as her soft brush met his face, and the resulting cloud of powder made him break into a hacking cough.

"Just hold still!" he heard, as he was rendered temporarily blind and unable to protest. He felt another presence join the first, and soon the two artists were everywhere at once, far too close—closer than he allowed anyone to be. He was only too happy to squeeze his eyes shut and pretend he was somewhere far away—on the other side of the Galaxy, somewhere his name and title still meant something and kept away _intruders_.

He kept his eyes closed even after the torturous process had ceased and the two had fled, staying in his faraway imaginary world lest he return before his temper was under control and murder everyone he saw.

"A credit for your thoughts," Espera said easily, lowering herself into the seat beside him. "You look good today, Mister Secretary."

Vader's eyes snapped open and he bit down on his tongue, hard enough to leave toothy indentions, but apparently his glare didn't satisfy the journalist.

"No worries about today, it's all softball questions," she went on breezily, totally ignoring her own hovering crowd of makeup applicators with an air of indifference that hugely contrasted with his earlier awkwardness. "Not potential political landmines, I promise."

This wasn't enough to put Vader at ease, certainly not while he still felt the sting of humiliation. They sat in chilly silence, with Espera occasionally chatting to a PA or to her unresponsive guest.

"Live in five."

"It's going to be an awfully long program if you don't say anything at all," Espera remarked. "Nexu got your tongue?"

"I have nothing to say to you outside the obligations made against my will," he bit off, his voice sounding a bit less confident than he would have liked.

"Mmm," she replied, pressing her lips together but not yet ready to give up the fight-- merely postpone it until they were on air.

Even when they were live and Espera was giving her opening spiel, Vader refused to acknowledge that there was a tangible audience present and one composed of billions who weren't. It was only the mental picture of Luke staring at him with disappointment and the childish desire to prove Leia wrong that kept him seated there, stony and impossible as he was.

"Mister Skywalker," she said, as her own gaze and four other cameras swung to focus on him, "let's talk a little bit about your life before the Clone Wars."

"Let's." If she was going to humiliate him, he did not intend to spool out the rope for her to do so.

"Most Jedi Knights began their training in infancy, correct?"

"Indeed."

"What made you different? We have sources that say you did not begin training until the age of nine- practically unheard of in that time."

_How did she possibly- _Vader reeled, outwardly retaining his aloof manner. "The Jedi's scouts seldom came to Hutt Space, where I lived."

"Where in Hutt Space, exactly?"

"Tatooine," he muttered. This was not going his way in the slightest.

"Tatooine," she repeated, as though it were all she could do to refrain from preening. "That must have been difficult, especially in your situation."

"What situation?" he asked, knowing it was a stupid and desperate cover the moment the words left his mouth.

Espera raised one eyebrow, and for a moment he imagined he was a recently one-armed teenager before Count Dooku again. "Your mother appears on several logs captured by the Republic's anti-slavery unit," she said. She motioned, and the screen behind them lit up, displaying said logs. Irrevocable proof. "Shmi Skywalker, is that correct?"

"Yes." This was not happening. This was not happening.

"She was purchased by one Gardulla the Hutt some time before 23 BBY, as was an unnamed infant. Did you have any brothers or sisters, Mister Secretary?"

"No," he grated.

"So the infant in question was you?"

"Yes."

The temperature in the room seemed to have dropped to sub-zero temperatures. Vader stared determined at some point directly over Espera's head, imagining that he was pulling her limbs off one by one with his bare hands. How could he be so stupid? How could he have let himself be talked into this?

"Was it difficult?" she asked, in a much softer tone of voice.

Vader's resolve cracked. "You are being deliberately obtuse," he snapped. "You know very well the answer to that question."

"I can't say I do," she said, sympathetically and with a sincerity that made him almost wish she was being condescending again.

"I worked," he replied, choppily. In his mind's eye, Espera was losing a great deal of blood at the moment. "My mother had an aptitude for machinery. She taught me."

"Machinery wasn't the only thing you had an aptitude for though, was it? I understand you managed to do a bit of piloting. How did you get away with podracing?"

Oh Force. She knew. Somehow, this deceptive, two-faced, _Dathomir witch_ knew _everything._

"Gambling is one of the many vices on Tatooine. People relish long odds in a race."

"Long odds are one thing, but impossible odds are another. How did you survive when adults of species with much higher reflexes routinely die on the track?"

"The Force flows within me," he said, with the tiniest shrug.

"It takes more than the Force to win the Boonta Eve Classic at age nine. What motivated you to enter?"

"The stakes were high enough."

"What was at stake."

"…freedom." The pause that followed seemed to drag on and on.

"Hmm. Well, I have a picture here," she said, turning back to the screen, "and I'm wondering if you could help me identify a few people in it, and tell me a little about the story behind it." Vader's eyes widened in horror, and had his hands been flesh-and-bone his knuckles would have been white upon his armrest.

"This gentleman?"

"Qui-Gon Jinn," he replied, mechanically. "A Jedi."

"And him?"

"His padawan. Obi-Wan Kenobi." His voice barely rose above of a whisper.

"_The_ Obi-Wan Kenobi?"

Vader shot her a look, only barely able to keep from shaking with rage.

"I see. We know this is Padme Amidala, then Queen of Naboo, and this young man here…" she said, dragging her finger down and causing his face to magnify on the screen. "Is captioned as one Anakin Skywalker."

Vader only nodded.

"There's a great resemblance to Luke there," she went on, bravely. You could have heard a pin drop in the silence.

"He is my son. He shares my blood." Not even pride at the mention of Luke could salvage this situation.

"This was taken about 30 BBY," Espera went on, "that makes you about…forty five?"

He nodded, then scowled. "You do not believe me."

"That makes you a Jedi at age 19, a father at 22, and Second-In-Command of the Galactic Empire at 23," she followed up. "That's a little young."

"The Jedi sent children into the field of battle," he scowled. "They were without compassion and prided themselves on it."

Espera pursed her lips, clearly unable to understand the hypocrisy it took for _Darth Vader_ to accuse others of lacking compassion. "Would you consider yourself too young to serve at the time of the Clone Wars?"

"Of course not," he barked. "I had been serving missions since my training began. More often than not I was accompanied by padawans half my age."

"Did any other Jedi share you concerns?"

"A Jedi does not question the will of the Force," he replied, bitterly.

"How old were you when you went on your first official mission?"

"Eleven."

"And how old were you," she asked, so softly he almost couldn't hear her, "When you first killed another sentient being?"

The entire room seemed to hold its breath. Even the roar of traffic outside faded away to an inaudible hum.

"Twelve," he said, without any feeling.

For a moment, Espera's impartial mask slipped. "Twelve?"

"In the line of duty. What do you take me for?" Vader snapped. Espera chose to sidestep _that_ conversation entirely.

"Was it an act of self-defense?"

"A Jedi never acts in his own interest, only those of others."

"And," she paused, phrasing her question with the delicacy of a surgeon, "how did it…feel?"

"A Jedi," he said, cold and unemotional as a distant mountain, "does not feel _anything_."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: So, uh...it's been some time, hasn't it? I felt bad about leaving this story unfinished when I knew how it ended, so...here it is! _

_To move the plot along I shortened the number of of interviews to three- this really should be two chapters, but people still reading this (bless you) have waited long enough. The last chapter/resolution should be up in a few days. Much love.  
_

Espera took a long, shaky draw of her deathstick, suppressing a cough as the harsh smoke hit her lungs. She'd quit- been clean and free for a few years now- but she really, really needed this right now.

"Those will kill you, you know," Nola commented, dryly. His sudden appearance nearly made Espera jump out of her skin, but he didn't seem to notice, opting to light his own death stick instead.

She exhaled an irritable huff of smoke in lieu of an answer. The last interview with Vader had not gone badly, per se- he hadn't tried to either leave or strangle the life out of her, which put it light-years ahead of their first one. At the same time, Vader had managed to throw her off her game, possibly without even meaning too. She's asked some banal questions about various campaigns of the Clone Wars, now long since history, and instead of taking the bait- a chance to play up his heroic past- Vader had…retreated. A kind of veil had settled over his eyes and seemed to withdraw into himself. It deeply unsettling, totally unexpected and wreaking havoc on Espera's grand plan.

Sal was actually going to kill her. What was one little death stick in the face of her ultimate demise?

Speaking of…Espera switched her death stick to her left hand, cautiously opening her commlink with the other. She braced herself for screeching-

"Morning," Sal said, casually, "You're going to like what I've got for you now."

'Pera cracked one eye open, suspiciously. "That's it? No rant about how I bungled everything and betrayed the cause a little over an hour ago?"

Sal rolled his eyes. "Are you kidding? It was fine. Vader's a total sociopath, we all knew that, but it doesn't hurt to have him nearly admitting it on holofilm. Did you see the look in his eyes when he talked about getting teenagers killed on Jabiim and then leaving the civilians behind? He's totally dead inside. Didn't even bother with crocodile tears- he just doesn't care."

"Mmm," Espera nodded, still too rattled by experiencing that deadness that first-hand to comment.

"It doesn't matter. I checked your ratings- yes, I know they aren't out yet, I did a little digging- and you got your triple your last audience. Some kind of social media explosion made people tune in, or something- it doesn't matter. Meet me at headquarters. I've got the final nail for Vader's coffin."

And with that he snapped his commlink shut, leaving Espera to finish her death stick and wonder why she felt so uneasy.

* * *

"Father—" Luke called, after Espera's crew had finally cleared out of their apartments, but all he caught was a flash of white from Anakin's cloak as the door shut behind him. Luke sighed as he heard the revving on an engine and knew his father was taking one of his infamous 'thinking flights'.

_Hopefully this time he won't end up on CSF's radar_… his father had been abusing his newfound diplomatic immunity when it came to traffic violations, adding to his already immense popularity.

"I just passed Anakin," Leia announced, as the door to their apartment slid over. "I don't think he even saw me, though just thundered b y- you know he's only getting worse, don't you? If he keeps up like this up-"

"I know," Luke snapped, and then smiled sadly in apology. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. This whole thing is just really-" he was interrupted by Leia, who laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright. You've got your work cut out for you, being Anakin's baby sitter and the hole of the Jedi," she said, smiling wanly. "I know that must be hard on you, sometimes. _Especially_ when he's being this difficult."

Luke released a slow, controlled breath. "It's not just that, Leia- this is really getting to him. I thought this interview would help him, relieve some of the tension that follows him around whenever he goes out so we can get this mess with the Remnant sorted out as soon as possible, but…" he shook his head. "It's bothering him and he won't talk to me about it."

"Is that so unusual?" Leia asked, fixing him with a hard glare.

"No," Luke admitted, "but…you were watching that broadcast. Have you ever seen him shut down like that?"

"Everyone was watching that," Leia replied, cryptically. "All it took were the words 'baby Vader' and the Galaxy came running to their holo sets. I caught some of my aids watching it when they were _supposed_ to be filing. Are you surprised he's humiliated? D'tol but a big dent in his 'terrifying and scary Sith Lord' image that he's so fond of."

Luke shook his head. "It's more than that," he said, "while I'm sure father's upset that he missed burning every single copy of that picture…" he shrugged. "Something deeper than that is bothering him, winding him up. Can't you feel it? It feels like a bomb is about to go off in here."

"I hear you, Luke, but that isn't exactly unusual for him, either." Leia patted him on the back. "He just needs to survive one more of these damn things, wrap up the talks, and then he can go to whatever dark corner of the Galaxy his heart desires."

Luke nodded, but he didn't feel one ounce of his sister's certainty.

"I have a bad feeling about this…

* * *

"Sal," Espera breathed, hardly believing what she was seeing, "where did you get this?"

"You know that little R2 unit that follows Luke Skywalker around everywhere?"

"You didn't…"

"What?! It's not my fault Vader keeps sensitive data in a little droid that's susceptible to a slight electric shock and is easily copied from!"

"That's theft…"

"Yeah, but killing a hundred billion beings is genocide, so let's call it even. Besides, you have no obligation to reveal your sources. For all you know, this definitely isn't stolen."

"This is an ethical nightmare…"

"An ethical nightmare is letting Vader strut around Corsucant as if he isn't a war criminal. This is just fighting dirty."

"But this…"

"It's what we were praying would leak. The Force helps those who hack and steal for themselves, D'tol. This is what will make your career- what's going to finally oust Vader for good. Don't tell me you don't want that?"

Espera sighed deeply.

* * *

At long last, the evening of the final interview had come. Vader hadn't come home from his flight until the first rays of sunshine had begun to peak over the Coruscanti horizon, or so Luke assumed- he had fallen asleep waiting for his father's return. He had awoken wrapped in a blanket he didn't remember having before, but when he tried to thank his father his only response was a neutral grunt, not even looking up from his stack of data pads. Clearly, his mood had yet to improve.

Vera, Sal and Nola hadn't slept either, plotting long into the night over just how to best nab Vader with their stolen holos, and drafting a press release in the event Espera actually was strangled to death this time. It was grim, the idea that she could actually die when confronting Vader, but at least for a few days she would be the most famous person on the holonet, or so Nola said. Espera herself didn't find this very comforting.

Both parties were coming to the table sleep deprived and tense. Was it any wonder, Luke would later think, that his bad feeling had quickly morphed into an accurate assessment?

* * *

The first questions were easy enough- yes, he had known Palpatine before the Empire, they had been close, Palpatine had been a major force on both sides of the Clone Wars- when D'tol suddenly took out a handheld holoprojector. It flickered to life, revealing the figure of a small, brunette woman in an elaborately embroidered white gown. Luke felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"Mr. Secretary, could you—" Espera didn't even have time to finish her question before an invisible force ripped the holo from her hands and caused it to sail across the room into Anakin's grasp. There was an audible gasp from members of the crew.

"Ah, Mr. Skywalker," Espera asked, flustered, "could you tell me who this woman is?"

"Where did you get this?" Anakin asked, breathless. He was fixated on the holo, as if the rest of the world had vanished. The alarm klaxons in Luke's head were deafening, but he could only look over helplessly at Leia, who motioned for him to stay put. "There shouldn't be any copies of this left…" he muttered, as if he were the only one present.

"Mr. Skywalker, could you please answer the question?"

"It's Padme." He stated, simply. He still hadn't taken his eyes off the holo.

"Are you confirming that this is an image of Padme Amidala Naberrie, former Queen and Senator from Naboo?"

"Yes."

"Could you tell us your relationship with her?"

The room was totally, deathly silent- in some ways, it seemed as though Coruscant was holding its breath.

"I- she—" Anakin stuttered, looking towards the crowd of silent watchers for help. He seemed to…crumple, slightly, before answering.

"We were married."

Even Leia's jaw dropped. Luke had sensed that she was more familiar with this person- he'd only felt a twinge in the Force, which had been odd earlier, but now-

_ She must be-_

"Is she the mother of your children, Luke Skywalker and Leia Organa?"

"Yes."

"Under the Jedi Code of the Old Republic," Espera went on, looking slightly sweaty but otherwise as calm and professional as ever, "Jedi were forbidden to 'know love', in their words. Did your marriage to Padme Amidala break the Jedi Code?"

"It wasn't wrong," Vader snapped, looking up away from the holo for the first time. "We weren't the ones who were wrong. The Jedi were wrong."

"Could you answer the question, please?" Espera was starting to look a little pale.

"…Yes"

"Then would you say," Espera, shaky but triumphant, struck her final blow- "that your marriage was the primary reason for you changing allegiances from the Republic to the Empire?"

"The Jedi had become corrupt—the Senate was corrupt, the Jedi were…mislead by…." Anakin stumbled. Luke grabbed Leia's sleeve, tugging desperately. This was a diatribe they'd heard from their Father many, many times- it came to him as easily as breathing used to. He shouldn't have been so rattled by the question.

_He's dying up there. We have to get him out._

_ How? _For the first time, Leia was able to answer his call in the Force. It would have been a proud moment for them both if the circumstances weren't so dire. _There's less than an hour left…we can't pull him out…_

"Mr Skywalker, we have holo footage here that would seem to suggest otherwise."

The only movement in the room was Espera leaning forward and taking her projector back from Anakin's now slack hands and activating it. The holo was undercut with a constant roar in the background but the words were clear enough:

"_Love can't save you, Padme, only my new powers can- I'm stronger than the Emperor, we can rule the Galaxy together- make things the way they should be…"_

"Turn it off." Vader's voice shook. The look in his eyes was wild, feral. "I said turn it OFF!" He brought his fist down on the projector, totally smashing it. Espera jumped back in fright.

"You don't know anything about the Clone Wars!" Vader seethed. He stood, pacing around the room. Crew members leapt to get out of his path. "You can't comprehend the sheer power of the Force! Do you know how far I have seen?" he turned and continued, knocking another unfortunate bystander to the ground.

"I have seen the future! I know what destiny holds! I have seen the billions of lights that light the Galaxy- I saw them go out! I saw them crushed, extinguished, one by one! I alone had the power to bring the Galaxy together- AND NONE OF YOU WANTED IT!" he roared, reaching beneath the elegant coffee table and throwing it against the wall. To her credit, Espera remained in her seat, but it was apparent that she was deathly afraid.

"Father-" Luke called, weakly, but he couldn't move- this was all unfolding before his eyes so quickly—

"I hate you! I hate every one of you! You are the ones who took Padme from me! I lost everything and it was because of you- you who do not want to be saved!" Anakin was screaming now, rabid and incoherent- it was like a nightmare Luke couldn't wake up from. "I made you a Galaxy of order, I brought you the end of the Clone Wars, I destroyed the Seperatists, the Jedi- and you!" Now he towered over Espera, who seemed to have accepted her imminent demise with as much grace as she could muster, quailing only slightly underneath Anakin's gaze.

"I gave you peace and you WOULD NOT HAVE PEACE! I am the Chosen One! I am the one who controls the Force, I am the one who holds the balance in my hands, you are the ones who would not—"

Vader's rant was brought mercifully short when he suddenly stopped, swaying. From out of nowhere, it seemed, a small syringe had appeared and lodged itself in the side of his neck. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the ground, revealing a very frazzled looking Senator Leia Organa.

"Kriffing Hells," she shouted, "will you turn that camera OFF?!"


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: And here we are, at the end of the story. If you stuck with me this long, you are an angel. Thank you so much. _

* * *

The next morning, Luke was only half-watching Espera take part in an interview of her own (interspersed with expertly cut clips of his father's break from reality) when Leia returned. He didn't have to look up and see the stormy look on her face to know the call she'd gone outside to take had ended badly.

"You need to wake him up," she said, grimly. "The War Council wants to meet with him."

Luke's stomach dropped. There were few reasons why the highest ranking generals of the New Republic and their Senate liaisons would want to see his father this morning- and none of them were good.

"He shouldn't still be sleeping," Luke heard his sister mutter, even as he trudged down the hall. He froze- for a moment, it seemed like a familiar blue glow was emanating from his father's quarters- but when he reached his father's bedroom, there was no one but Anakin.

* * *

His father's face was drawn tight. He hadn't said a full sentence since he'd woken up, responding to Luke mostly in monosyllables. Even Leia couldn't get a full answer out of him. Now they sat in the small antechamber, waiting to appear before the full New Republic War Council, and Anakin wouldn't speak to him. Even his shields were stronger than usual, giving Luke no glimpse into how his father felt in the wake of last night's disaster.

"Father-"

At that moment, the door swung open revealing an absolutely terrified looking page.

"The Council-" the young Rodian's voice broke, and he cleared this throat and tried again. "The Council will see you now—"

Before he could even finish, Vader pushed the heavy sandak wood doors open, nearly upending the Council's messenger. Leia fixed her brother with an exasperated look before running after their father- who was now a distant flash of cape and steady thunder of booted footsteps.

Luke and Leia walked solemnly- but quickly- past rows of audience seating- mercifully empty. The nine members of the War Council sat behind a massive desk on a raised dais. Vader had refused the defendant seating, choosing instead to stand directly beneath the Council's gaze, hands curled into fists and resting on his hips. Leia's surge of alarm mirrored Luke's own- it was a pose far too reminiscent of Vader.

"Mr. Skywalker," Mon Mothma greeted, inclining her head. "I'm sure you know why you are here today."

"Indulge me," Vader snarled, tilting his mask upwards. Luke could sense his glare beneath the large, bulbous lenses of his mask was equally fierce, as if he were the one passing judgment, not receiving it. Mon Mothma quirked an eyebrow.

"Very well. Mr. Skywalker, in light of current circumstances, the Council has voted to relieve you both of your emergency powers as Secretary of Intra-Republic Affairs and liaison to the Imperial Remnant, as well as your position as military adviser and Special Agent within the New Republic Army."

Luke's blood ran cold. His father's amnesty was contingent on his service with the New Republic, routing out the last of the Empire's forces. Without it…there were many, many forces in the New Republic who wanted to see Vader pay dearly for his crimes.

"Mon, you can't do this!" Leia exclaimed, breaking protocol even before Vader did. "You can't take him to trial again; the New Republic has laws against double jeopardy! Without that, we're no better than-"

"Senator Organa," Mothma cut in, sharply. "Your father is not going to stand trial again. Not only would it be impossible, but highly unethical, as he is unable to contribute to his own defense. Anakin Skywalker's amnesty will remain intact given his honorable discharge."

"On what grounds?" Leia and Anakin demanded in unison. Leia's mouth snapped shut, and she looked slightly ill at her and her father's shared outburst.

The dignified members of the War Council shifted uncomfortably. Mothma looked to them, as if asking for someone else to chime in, but no one came to her rescue. She exhaled slowly before pressing on.

"On that grounds that your mental health no longer allows you to perform your duty to the New Republic."

"_WHAT_?!" Anakin shouted, and Luke imagined the room shook slightly. "This is your newest attempt to rid yourselves of me- through slander?!"

"Mr. Skywalker," Mon Mothma pressed on, still calm in the face of a very Vader-like outburst, "last night you claimed you could see the future and that the stars were in danger of burning out of existence."

"I said no such thing!"

"We have a transcript," Mothma replied, smoothly. "We could read the relevant sections if you like."

"I was the Commander of the Imperial Navy!" Anakin shouted, pointing for emphasis. "I am just as sane now as I was then!"

"A hologram of your dead wife caused you so much distress you had to be sedated," Mothma didn't look annoyed or upset by Anakin's shouting, instead she looked…almost sad. "I also remember the Clone Wars. I remember how young you were. This is not a _punishment_, there's no shame is being affected by lingering trauma-"

"There is no lingering trauma!" Vader exploded, nearly shrieking. "This is a plot! You have waited for a chance to remove me—you are the ones who set the entire affair in motion!"

"Do you honestly believe that?" Mothma asked. Her expression was now openly pitying. Luke walked forward and put a gentle hand on his father's arm. His father bit back another angry outburst, and Mothma went on.

"We've lost many soldiers to injuries, both physical and otherwise. Because of your previous service the New Republic will be providing your treatment-"

"_Treatment_," his father hissed, but Luke admonished him silently. Mon went on as if she hadn't heard. "-at a private facility on Naboo. Arrangements have already been made. Mr. Skywalker, this is a chance for you to finally get _better_. We suggest you take it."

Vader took in the news silently. Luke sensed that beneath his mask, his jaw was clenched dangerously tight. Then, without warning, he turned on his heel and strode out of the council chambers.

"You are dismissed!" Mon Mothma called after him, annoyed. Luke sighed. He was desperately tired of always chasing after his father.

* * *

Luke carefully placed another one of his tunics in the transport crate. Leia and Han loved to tease him, and even his father was baffled by it, but he didn't mind folding laundry. Keeping his hands busy kept him from worrying about what exactly his father was going to do once he stopped pouting in his quarters.

The door behind him slid open, and he turned in surprise. Leia had stayed behind to hammer out some of the details of Vader's exile (has his father had grimly referred to it) with Mon Mothma, and Luke hadn't sensed her return. Instead, standing sheepishly in the doorway, was Espera.

"Uh…hey," she said, shifting nervously. It was clear she expected to be shouted at again. Instead Luke gestured to the only chair unoccupied by unpacked clothes.

"Please come in."

Espera came into the apartment, but didn't take a seat. Instead, she shifted nervously from foot to foot. "I actually came to, ah…see your father."

Luke gave her the most politely incredulous look he could muster. When he felt she'd suffered under it enough, he answered: "I'm not sure he'll be available today."

Espera sighed. "Look, I didn't mean to get him fired-" she started, but Luke's expression of disbelief deepened.

"Well, OK, maybe that was a _possibility_," she admitted, "but we didn't think it would actually happen. Surely you didn't think it would actually happen?" she shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. "Even you have to admit he's not- we can't have an insane general running the clean-up effort against the Imps!"

"He's not insane!" Luke snapped, irritated for the first time. He threw down the pair of pants he'd been folding with more force than was really necessary.

"Ok, ok!" Espera held up her hands, in apology. "I just came over to say that I wouldn't have…arranged for this if I'd known he was…sick. Not publicly, anyhow. Something quiet."

Luke didn't respond. "I'm making a mess," Espera muttered, "but I did come here to apologize. Look, I'll get out of your hair, just tell Anakin I have something for hi—oh!" Espera nearly jumped out of her skin. Luke turned, mildly surprised- his father usually didn't bother to cloak his presence in the Force. How long he'd been standing in the shadows of the hallway, arms folded across his chest, Luke couldn't say.

"We…" Espera started, faltered, and then swallowed hard before going on. "We pulled this off a holocam from inside the old Senate building. Don't ask me how I got it, even I don't really want to—" she held out a small holo projector, similar to the one she'd used in the last, ill-fated interview, and it sprung to life in her palm. A young man, dressed in the robes of the Old Republic Jedi, held aloft a woman in an elaborate gown. They spun in an endless loop, happy expressions frozen on their faces. The blue images flickered, reflected on the planes of Vader's mask, before he snatched the holo projector from Espera's palm. He stared at her for a long moment, unreachable beneath his armor, before turning on his heel and stalking away. He never said a word.

"That was wonderful," Luke said, breaking the silence. "He really does appreciate it. Thank you for such a lovely gift."

Espera released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "I really, really didn't know," she said, making one last appeal.

Luke shrugged. "We didn't either, really. He's been isolated for a very, very, long time….he would have told us, I think, if he knew how."

"Kriff me," Espera muttered, rubbing the back of her head. "Look, I'm just going to go. I did enough here-" she turned, and jumped once again. "Senator Organa!"

"Mrs. D'tol," Leia replied, coldly. "What brings you here?"

"Nothing. I was just going. So…goodbye," she waved once, before making her way out of the apartment, doing her best to mask her relief.

"What did she want?" Leia demanded, dropping a load of parcels.

"She just wanted to apologize for the way things went," Luke said, going back to his packing. "She brought Father a gift. It was actually very nice."

Leia made an exasperated noise. "Only you could describe the person who just threw the order of our lives entirely out of sync as 'very nice'."

"Well, it was," Luke shrugged. "What did the Council have to say?"

"That I'm going with you," Leia replied, grimly. Luke actually looked up in surprise. "They think a brief leave of absence from the Senate would be good for me. I did have to sedate my father live on the Holonet. Apparently, my image needs a slight…rehabilitation." She sighed heavily. "The facility they picked out is a family place, so they want both of us there. It's going to be pretty miserable."

"Father will like spending time with you," Luke replied, evenly. Leia made a face. "Perhaps the counseling will do you both some good-" with that she balled up a stray pair of pants and threw it at his head. Luke took the hit squarely in the face, laughing as he tugged them free.

"Shut up. Han's coming with the Falcon in an hour, and we aren't going to hear the end of his stupid jokes the entire way there."

"Then let me go make sure Father is getting ready," Luke said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the same blue glow at the end of the hall.

Father must have left his holo on…

While that was certainly true, Luke was not expected the scene he saw before him. His father sat in the chair in the middle of his mediation chamber, chin on his chest, sound asleep. And behind him, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder…

"Obi-Wan!" Luke exclaimed. The ghostly figure of his former mentor smiled, putting a finger to his lips. "What are you doing here?" Luke pressed on, in a half-whisper.

"Watching over my padawan," Obi-Wan replied, looking down at Anakin's slumped form fondly. "You have to keep an eye on him. When he has nightmares, he doesn't sleep well. It makes him…testy."

"I didn't realize," Luke said, softly. Obi-Wan's face fell.

"Neither did we," he said, with an air of age old sadness. "The Jedi weren't made of stone- we did feel, even if the Code advised against it. It was our stubborn, foolish refusal to let go of the Code and actually help Anakin that was his undoing. We looked the other way while he hurt, and we all paid the price."

Luke was quiet for a moment, while Obi-Wan leaned gently against his Father's back, draping his arms around the much larger man's shoulders. "The Jedi can change," Luke said, finally. "We—the New Order can be stronger for those mistakes."

Obi-Wan looked up, smiling gently. "I believe so as well," he said, before leaning over and murmuring into Anakin's ear.

"Wake up, padawan," he whispered, looking mischievous. "Luke wants to tell you something." Anakin raised his head, shaking it sleepily, and Obi-Wan smiled at Luke before vanishing.

"Luke?" his father asked, rubbing his eyes. "What…?"

"It must be a lingering effect of Leia's sedative," Luke answered, smoothly. He imagined he heard a far-off peal of laughter. His father still looked dazed, but seemed to accept that answer.

"Are you ready to go?" Luke pressed on. "Leia says we're going to leave in an hour. We have to have everything you want to take ready to load up by then."

"Very well," his father sighed, as he heaved himself out of the chair. His gaze turned to the holo Espera had given him, still playing. He watched it for a few more moments before turning it off and clipping it to his belt.

"If we are going in that smuggler's wreck of a ship then I want all of my backup equipment as well as…"

His father went on, as if his moment of sentiment had never happened. Luke smiled, shook his head, and went to lend a hand.


End file.
